


write your story on my heart: come on and make your mark

by letsperaltiago



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Episode: s07e13 Lights Out, F/M, Family Fluff, Missing Scene, Parents Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, Takes place between Jake reaching Amy at the precinct and the hospital, The first moments of parenthood, skin to skin contact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23890729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsperaltiago/pseuds/letsperaltiago
Summary: In the safety of his mom's hoodie Mac Santiago-Peralta quickly learns that his parents are quite alright if not his favorite people in this big, scary world.
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Comments: 6
Kudos: 95





	write your story on my heart: come on and make your mark

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yet another 'Lights out'-based episode but I had to write something for this episode because HOW CAN I NOT? Also I haven't found any fics mentioning skin to skin-contact, which I love love love so here we go (lemme know if I've missed some fics mentioning it!!)
> 
> Welcome to the family, baby Mac <3

“One last push! You’re doing _so_ good, honey.”

The second his powerhouse of a wife delivers her last push, fully welcoming the newest addition to their family into the world and the safety of his auntie Roro’s hands, Jake feels his entire cosmos shift and turn upside down. It’s a transition, a feeling he thought the million hours of googling and studying parenting books had prepared him for, only now realising that there is no such thing as being prepared for this very moment. 

No book, binder, higher power or even the tangled depth of some Reddit-forum he’d once found could possibly have prepared him for the immense, indescribable joy he experiences rushing through every cell of his body when he hears the first, notably loud cries of his son.

Loud cries are a good sign: it means he has strong lungs, Jake remembers. 

“Jake,” he’s snapped out of his reverie by the sound of Amy’s breathy whimpers. Surely she’s more than exhausted after pushing a human out of her. “He’s-” she interrupts herself when she heaves resulting in her knocking her head back against the pillow to gain a breath, meanwhile her eyes search Jake’s face for some kind of conclusion. 

The strong urge to take care of them both at the same time, his son and his wife, is tearing him in two separate directions. Although he does quickly settle on turning to Amy. He knows and trusts that his newborn is safe in Rosa and, he shudders a bit at the thought, he has to admit, the fire-fighters care when he sees said _glorified EMT_ is checking his son’s condition. 

One last time, he comes to realise this will be, he immerses himself in the feeling of being just the two of them; to have eyes only for her because soon, even though he doesn’t mind one bit, his heart will officially be shared with someone else. 

“Yeah, he’s here, babe. He’s here,” he lets out in an euphoric mixture of a breath, smile and sniffle as he leans in to kiss his wife’s forehead. Beneath his touch he can feel her trembling from the adrenaline, still very much red and sweaty but oh, how she’s never been more beautiful to him, and although it’s a _very_ close second, not even clad in white on their wedding day. 

His lips stay plastered there for a few seconds but somehow feels like an eternity put into slow-motion. Yes, he knows he could be attending so many other, more useful, matters, but there’s no resisting the overwhelming pride he’s currently feeling knowing his incredible wife once again, this time more than ever, has proven to be the superhero he’s always known her to be.

“You did it,” he exclaims joyously through the cry threatening to crawl up and out of his throat once his lips slip off of her skin. From his new vantage point, having pulled back the slightest, he can tell she’s crying along to the sound of their son’s furious wails, and he can’t blame her. It’s paradoxical: somehow the most beautiful and heartbreaking sound he’s ever heard. 

“You’re so incredible, Ames,” the words come spilling out of his moth hopped up on adrenaline which results in them stumbling over each other but he doesn’t care. She needs to know how _amazing_ she is. 

As intimate as an interrogation room containing their best friend and some random firefighter can be, their moment runs out the second the firefighter lets them know that their baby is perfectly healthy and gently places him stomach down, wailing at the top of his lungs, on Amy’s still heaving chest. Alongside this the two freshly baked parents stare in disbelief: _they_ created this little and so very wanted human who’s now finally, after 9 months of pregnancy and even longer time spent wanting and trying, screaming into the soft fabric of Amy’s hoodie. 

Amy’s hand are immediately drawn in, rushing to cup the tiny being in her hands, one supporting his bottom meanwhile the other his head. It’s all _so much:_ the soft surface of his skin, the vibration coming from his screaming, and more importantly _healthy_ , lungs resonate against hers making everything that more and finally completely _real._ Every ultrasound scanning, all the fluttering kicks from inside her womb and even the contractions: this kind of real beats everything prior to this moment.Her son is _really_ here, in flesh and blood, resting against her chest instead of bundled up inside her womb. 

“He’s amazing,” she lets out with a sob as she attempts to study Mac’s every feature.

“He sure is,” Jake is quick to chime in placing a hand on his son’s back before leaning in to kiss the tiny head tenderly, of course keeping in mind the fragility of a newborn’s skull, something all the baby books have told him about. He then looks backs to his wife and kisses her lips. 

Her crying almost sabotages her ability to kiss him back, but she stables herself just enough by moving a hand to rest on her husband’s cheek and then it hits her like never before that she’s currently, right then and there, holding her entire world in her hands: Jake in one and their son in the other. 

McClane Santiago-Peralta. Mac. 

He’s a perfect 9 pounds and 21 inches, they’re later told at the hospital; he’s soft, pink and brand new; he’s here and he’s _their_ _son._

Caught up in what feels like her life’s biggest whirlwind of a moment, kissing her husband and holding her screaming newborn, she faintly make out Rosa and the firefighter telling them they’re going to leave them alone for a while to go meet the incoming ambulance and and _actual_ EMTs. 

Jake and Amy pull apart as the door closes and encapsulates their new little family of three in the interrogation room. 

“I love you so much, Jake,” she smiles both with her lips and deep brown eyes which radiate so much joy through the tears that it makes Jake shed a tear too when he tell her “I love you too. So much.” 

Their attention shifts back to Mac quietly whimpering for attention having only been partly soothed by his mother’s hold and is still very much upset with the fact he’s been thrown right into such a big, bright world without warning. 

“And I love you too, my baby Mac,” she coos in addition to her declaration of love as she lets go of Jake’s face to hold her still naked, probably very hungry and cold son even closer. 

Although Amy without a doubt had the birthing suite Hitchcock and Scully had built her to thank for making the birth surmountable, it wasn’t exactly destined to do what it was doing right now meaning that a lack of heat was noticeable. 

“Shhh, yes, I know,” she strokes the top of his head in an attempt to comfort the whimpering bundle, “it’s all so big and scary out here, but we’ll make sure you’re okay. We got you.” 

Mac’s cries have definitely quieted down, lost momentum, since first appearing in their world just minutes ago but he’s still very clearly voicing discontent and Amy can feel her brand new mom-heart bleed. She mentally turns over every page of every baby book she’s ever read furiously trying to find a solution to her son’s crying and discomfort. 

“Your mom’s right, bud. No need to cry. We’re here with you,” Jake bends over the gap between him and the stretcher, down to his son’s eye level as if it’ll convince him to calm down only to comprehend that a newborn probably doesn’t care about his father’s promises. Mac is a man of actions not words.

“Jake,” Amy whimpers hit by realisation, so suddenly set on one thing and _one thing only_ and it of course immediately gains her her husband’s full attention. “Help me put him on my chest.”

A look of confusion dawns on Jake as they share a look, Amy’s eyes pleading for him to understand. 

“But Ames, that’s where he already is?” 

“No, like on my _actual_ chest. Skin to skin-contact, Jake.” 

It comes out matter of factly and memories of many textbook pictures of cute, tiny babies lying against their mother’s bare chest right after birth come rushing back to Jake instantly replacing his confusion. 

“Oh yes, that, right! Of course.”

She briefly pauses to think although its hard when her train of thoughts is very much controlled by the worry growing within her every time Mac lets out another loud whine or cry. At least he’s on top of something soft, she thinks in an attempt to reassure herself when looking down at him and her now very messy, gooey NYPD-hoodie and _then,_ all out of the blue, it hits her: the messy but _soft_ and _warm_ NYPD-hoodie. Beneath it she’s only wearing her maternity bra (she’d started wearing them already months ago once her boobs had grown too big for her regulars once: also they were way more comfortable) so surely her idea was worth the try. 

“He could probably fit into my hoodie,” she wonders or rather _declares_ out loud. Her son needs somewhere warm and safe, so, regular procedure be damned.

“I mean,” Jake studies the features of the grey piece of clothing, “it’s quite big and if you just tug down the neck whole he could _probably_ fit in there with you.” 

So they give it a try. 

While Jake momentarily takes possession of his son, immediately tearing up again at the very surreal feeling of holding life, which he’s created, for the first time, Amy unclasps and removes her soft bra. In terms of the last step she tugs open, as wide as physically possible, the neck hole of her hoodie to welcome her son. It’s not pretty nor graceful but the hoodie is indeed really big (especially now that Mac is no longer in her womb) and together they manage to carefully place him to rest against his mother’s skin and under the soft material of the hoodie, only his head, under Amy’s, emerging from the neck hole. They hold their breaths for a second, both internally begging for their invention to be enough to soothe their son completely.

Amy instantly feels better knowing she’s sharing her bodily heat with her son, and, even more rewarding is the fact that it also seems to pay off: after a few more whimpers, slowly fading into barely audible sniffles, a silence lastly settles over them. 

From where he’s resting chest to chest, skin to skin, with his mother, Mac finally, for the first time in his life, seems fully content and settles for dozing off as the easiest way to handle being completely knocked out by the intensity of being born. 

Jake and Amy exchange a surprised, having feared the worst outcome since today already had followed a certain chaotic discourse, but ecstatic look as all there is left to be heard is the sound of approaching ambulance sirens. 

“This feels incredible,” she speaks quietly, back on the verge of tears, in an attempt to not disrupt her son’s newfound state of peace, checking on him once more to make sure he’s not being squished by her chin, and although this time there’s fabric creating a barrier between her palms and his skin, she allows her fingers to fall into a sweeping motion across the tiny frame. 

“It _looks_ incredible,” Jake whispers back not believing his own eyes because the scene currently playing out in front of him sure can’t be real. It’s too good, something he years ago wouldn’t even dare to dream of, and although he doesn’t want to be _that person_ , he wants to live in the present, Jake can’t fight the urge to grab his phone and snap a picture, just one that he can make his lock screen picture the second he has a minute to do so. For now he figures it’s enough and puts his phone back into his pocket allowing him to lean in and join his wife in caressing their son. 

“Always told you you look crazy good in hoodies,” he smirks knowingly thinking of all the times he’s told her this only to be met by disagreement and dismissive comments before pecking her temple tasting small beads of sweat, salt, on his lips. 

“Even now covered in placenta?” her exhausted eyes manage to throw him a teasing look ahead of redirecting to admiring Mac’s beautiful, finally peaceful being. Jake’s eyes trail behind, staying on her with the most loving look when he utters, “especially now covered in placenta,” before following her lead and looking at Mac. 

The sirens from before have faded, disappeared, letting the new parents know that the ambulance must’ve reached the precinct. Despite this fact, they forget and enjoy the quiet before the storm, their first peaceful moment as a family. 

All in all Mac seems pleased with his new favorite spot on his mom’s chest. Even as she holds him a bit tighter, securing him to her chest when she’s wheeled out of the integration room by a newly arrived EMT, Jake right beside her to make sure they’re alright every step of the way, Mac doesn’t budge; even in the ambulance when one of her hands leaves his back to hold Jake’s while the sirens make an encore, Mac stays quiet. 

This might not be his mother’s womb but he knows he’s _home_. 


End file.
